


The Glass Setter

by FindingSchmomo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cats, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Glass Delusion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo
Summary: Oikawa believes he is made of glass.Iwaizumi's heart is the only thing breaking.





	The Glass Setter

It’s Ushijima that calls him first.

“There’s been an accident,” he says, his usual monotone strained. Iwaizumi isn’t certain if it’s the receiver contorting the noise or if Ushijima’s concern has effected him to this degree.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, shutting his laptop and stuffing it into his bag with one hand. He throws his over priced coffee, half drunk in the closest trash and hurries out of the library.

“He fell,” Ushijima supplies. Again, his voice seems to ripple with worry, so unnatural for the stoic man that it puts him on edge. Iwaizumi finds himself doubling his pace, fingers clutching his phone to his ear as he begins to run down the sidewalk.

“His knee?”

“Yes,” Ushijima murmurs.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi curses, fumbling to slide his card through the metro gate, “Where is he?”

“We’re at the hospital. But there is more, Iwaizumi.”

“More?” Iwaizumi asks, pushing his way into the train, wrestling for a spot near a pole to grab on with his free hand.

Ushijma is silent for a long time, and Iwaizumi almost believe’s he’s hung up, until he can hear him quietly take in a breath.

“I don’t know what to say.” 

* * *

Oikawa looks so _fragile_ lying in the stark white hospital bed. His knee is propped up on a pillow, heavily bandaged. His skin pale and clammy, eyes closed and trembling. Iwaizumi steps closer, until his hands are able to wrap tightly around the railing of the bed, knuckles as white as the sheets.

Iwaizumi reaches a hand out, and Oikawa’s eyes fly open, arms retracting into his chest, fingers clenching into his palms as he pulls back. Iwaizumi freezes, letting his hand still in the air, caught in an impasse.

“It’s me,” Iwaizumi reminds, looking at Oikawa, but the young man has shut his eyes again, entire body tense.

Iwaizumi reaches out again, frowning, knowing, _knowing_ if he could just glide his hands through Oikawa’s hair, caress his slender face, rub his shoulders it would help. It always helps.

Oikawa lets out an uncharacteristic whimper, more akin to his five year old self and so uncomfortable coming from  his 20 year old body.

It guts Iwaizumi.

“Don’t,” Oikawa pleads.

Iwaizumi puts his hand back on the railing, “Why?”

Iwaizumi isn’t ready for Oikawa’s explanation, but the setter gives it anyway, voice raw and pained,

“I’ll break.” 

* * *

It takes a four days for Iwaizumi to believe him.

(Well, not _believe_ him, because this is nonsense, but believe that Oikawa truly inherently believes it himself.) 

* * *

Iwaizumi remembers, after their last middle school game, finding Oikawa hyperventilating in the bathroom. Oikawa had spent the bus ride back to Kitagawa Daichi in silence, fingers digging into his knees, chewing on his lips, tears brimming at his red eyes. Iwaizumi had not thought anything of it. the entire Kitagawa Daichi team was in a similar state. Even Iwaizumi was wiping at his own eyes angrily throughout the drive.

When they had reached the school, Oikawa had slipped away to the bathroom. In the interim, coaches gave their last remarks, teammates drifted away, stumbling back to their homes, all until it was just Iwaizumi left alone, waiting.

Waiting.

Iwaizumi is in no mood to be waiting.

The boys bathroom is empty and dark. Iwaizumi waves his hand over the motion sensor, watching the lights come back on. He squints at the unnatural brightness. He hears ragged breathing, and a whimpered gasp. His eyes narrow on the handicap stall, the only one closed.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi calls, knocking on the stall.

“I’m fine,” Oikawa replies, but even that simple statement is interrupted with breathing much too fast to be _fine_.

Iwaizumi shakes at the door but it doesn’t budge, “Let me in.”

“No.”

Iwaizumi drops to his stomach, shimmying his way under the door with a grunt. Oikawa doesn’t stop him. He’s curled up, rocking a bit back and forth on his butt, knees drawn up and pulled tightly to his chest.

His lip have been chewed raw, blood sprinkled on his chin. His eyes are red, tears staining his cherry cheeks. His fingers clench and unclench quickly, and his breathing is even faster than that rhythmic pulsing. Open. Close. Open. Close. He chokes on his breath, saliva built up in his throat, making him gag and heave every few seconds.

Iwaizumi has never seen him like this.

Oikawa doesn’t want him to see him like this.

He doesn’t acknowledge himi, gaze glued to the floor, hands squeezing and unsqueezing.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi asks, worry making his voice raise, “What happened?”

Oikawa shakes his head near violently, and Iwaizumi worries he’s going to bang it against the wall, “It’s my fault.”

Iwaizumi crawls closer, arms coming out to squeeze Oikawa’s shoulders. The other boy gasps finally looking at him.

“What do I do?” Iwaizumi asks, lost, “How do I help?”

Oikawa reaches out to him, burying his face in the other boys chests, fingers clenching and unclenching the back of Iwaizumi’s jacket. ( _Open. Close. Open. Close_ ) He presses his ear to Iwaizumi’s chest, hearing his heartbeat, so much slower than his own.

Oikawa takes in a breath  and holds it, waiting for Iwaizumi to release his own before he does as well. Then he takes a breath with Iwaizumi, and repeats.  Iwaizumi catches on quickly, slowing himself down, taking more exagerated breathes, the kind that make his whole chest move, so Oikawa _feels_ it too. He rubs circles on Oikawa’s back.

Finally, Oikawa’s breathing returns to normal, and he starts to pull away. His hands keep clenching and unclenching, and Iwaizumi wants them to stop. He wants all this stop, “Why are you doing that?”

“My hands are numb,” Oikawa responds with a shrug, continuously working his fingers to bring back the blood flow.

Iwaizumi frowns harder, “Do you need to go to the doctor?”

Oikawa shakes his head, “It happens.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything after that. Instead, he lifts his hands, taking Oikawa’s right arm and digging his fingers into the skin, massaging it as best he can. Oikawa smiles at him, despite it all.

They sit on the tile floor for a long time in silence. Iwaizumi working Oikawa’s arms back to feeling with the singular focus of a boy terrified over the well being of his best friend in the entire universe.

Once Oikawa assures him he’s fine now Iwaizumi speaks up, the question burning up his throat, “What do you mean this happens?”

“It’s called a panic attack,” Oikawa recites, regurgitating information mechanically, “My mom gets them. My sister too sometimes. It’s because I have anxiety.”

Iwaizumi frowns, “How do you stop getting it?”

Oikawa laughs, “It just happens, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi scowls, “Well, then, what happens? Why does it happen?”

Oikawa traces a tile on the floor with a long finger, taking his time before he speaks, “It feels like...like my body thinks it’s dying. My brain thinks it’s dying. It feels like I’m dying. And it’s, it’s hard to remember that I’m not.”

Iwaizumi has never heard anything so scary.

He swallows, “How do I help?”

Oikawa smiles again, wobblier than the last, a few stray tears slipping from his eyes, “Exactly what you did, Iwa-chan. Thank you.” 

Sincere thank you’s from Oikawa are rare and hard to come by, but receiving one in this moment only leaves Iwaizumi hollow inside.

* * *

It takes a long time to convince Oikawa to leave the safety of the hospital.

A lot of coaxing, a lot of assuring, a lot of giving in until Iwaizumi is able to get the man to agree to come home.

“You’re always too rough,” Oikawa had screamed, high pitched and hysterical, curled up as best he can amongst his mountain of pillows, “You’ll break me! You’ll break me!”

It was a new mantra, every day in the hospital, every movement Iwaizumi made, met a cacophony of, “You’ll break me!”

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa would not break so easily, knows how strong and capable he is, but he also know the mind is a powerful thing, and Oikawa has always been weak to his own. He’s out of his element, and he’s desperate to just get Oikawa _home_.

“ _T_ _ooru_ ,” he pleads, and it’s his tone that finally reaches him, the tone of a man desperate to connect with the person that means the world to him and more. Oikawa’s eyes seem clearer, wider as he takes in Iwaizumi’s tired, hurt face, and maybe, _maybe_ the constant thoughts swirling in his head have quieted down enough for him to hear him. Iwaizumi whispers, his voice pained, “I could _never_ hurt you.”

Oikawa deflates a little, sinking into his mounds of pillow, nibbling at his chewed up bottom lip.

Iwaizumi presses on, stepping closer but keeping his hands locked at his sides, “Trust me.”

Oikawa’s words pass between his lips without an ounce of hesitation, the one thing his mind doesn’t need to overthink, “I trust you.” 

* * *

“I’ll shatter,” Oikawa says, breaths ragged as he hugs the pillow to his chest, “I’ll shatter to a million pieces.”

“You won’t,” Iwaizumi assures, fingers ghosting above Oikawa's hair, “and even if you did, I would put you back together.”

* * *

The car ride home went as expected, despite all of Iwaizumi’s efforts.

He had lined the back seat of his car with thick blanket and taped pillows to the inside of every window, minus the ones necessary to drive. He had arrived at the hospital with a puffy coat, cushioned pants, sneakers, thick gloves, a hat and a scarf. He had looked like an idiot in the June heat.

It had not been enough.

With Oikawa bundled up as tightly as possible, he gingerly presses a foot against the floor of his hospital room and winces, shaking his head. “I can’t,” he hisses, “I can feel it cracking.”

“It’s your knee,” Iwaizumi explains, encouragingly, fighting to keep his hands to himself, “You’re putting weight on your knee for the first time, so of course it’ll hurt.”

Oikawa shakes his hand, “My foot will crack, Iwa-chan, I know it. I can’t.”

Iwaizumi swallows, taking in a breath that he lets out through his nose, “Alright,” he says, “Let me carry you.”

“Iwa-chan--” Oikawa begins to protest, and this is why Iwaizumi has to play along. Because old Oikawa, the Oikawa from last week would have squealed at the chance to be carried around by him, begged for that kind of attention at all hours of the day. But the fear in his brown eyes now is very real, and it kills him.

Iwaizumi’s heart is the only thing that can shatter in this room, and it _is_.

“Trust me,” Iwaizumi all but begs, “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“You’re too strong,” Oikawa continues, teary.

And before he can say anything further Iwaizumi is interrupting him, “I’ll be gentle. I won’t do anything to hurt you. _Please_.”

Oikawa licks his ruined lips and nods wordlessly after a moment. Iwaizumi doesn’t waste this rare allowance, stepping forward. He makes a show of reaching out his hands slowly, one arm going around Oikawa’s back, the other under his knees. He’s so careful, it kills him how careful, because he knows Oikawa is fine. Knows this is all in Oikawa’s head.

But he just wants to get him home.

Oikawa lets his head rest against Iwaizumi’s shoulders, curling up and away from the world as best he can in his arms. Iwaizumi forces himself not to tighten his grip, keeping him secure with as light a touch as possible. 

* * *

“You could crush me,” Oikawa had said, laying on the bed that first night home, cocooned between mountains of freshly bought pillows, “You’ll roll over and crush me, and not only will I shatter but the shards might hurt you Iwa-chan. What if they pierce your heart? I can’t let that happen,” and he had cried when he  had said that, and Iwaizumi was at a loss of what to do other than assure him the couch was comfy enough. 

As he lays there, half falling off the sofa, he stares at the ceiling. He bores holes into the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster of their old apartment. He feels the now familiar pressure at the back of his eyeballs. He counts the cracks again, anything to distract himself, blinking excessively but nothing dissuades the salty drops from dripping down his cheeks. He grits his teeth, laying an arm over his eyes.

There has to be something he can do.

There has to be _something_.

* * *

Iwaizumi remembers the day Oikawa won his first college match.

He remembers, his fingers wrapped tightly around the bar separating his row from the court, knuckles white and straining. Remembers the balls of his feet raising into the air, his chest heaving over the bar, teeth gritting as he watches.

Watches as Oikawa does his signature jump serve, so much more powerful than it had been in high school. It ends up being a service ace, his first of the season, and it wins his team the game. 

The entire team lets out a triumphant shout, Ushijima giving Oikawa a rare grin and high five. Iwaizumi screams his own cheers, a bit manic, a bit ecstatic, because he _knows_ how hard Oikawa has worked for this.

And he deserves it.

Oikawa is all smiles for the crowd, for his team, for the cameras. He waves at them, and when his eyes catch Iwaizumi his grin stretches even wider, and there is a hop in his step that makes Iwaizumi’s heart absolutely flutter.

Iwaizumi races to meet him in the locker room, and when he finds him he gives him a celebratory kiss without a care. Oikawa laughs, sheepishly looking around at his teammates. Iwaizumi has always found it funny, that Oikawa, the World’s Biggest Flirt, could be so bashful when in a committed relationship.

It’s cute.  

It’s more than cute.

Iwaizumi loves him.

He doesn’t expect the crash late that night, but neither is he surprised when he steps into the living room at three in the morning to find Oikawa Tooru unraveling at the seams.

Iwaizumi pauses, sleep addled brain trying to focus, to center, to wake up. He takes in Oikawa, pacing the room quickly, in a set pattern, circling the sofa in the same number of strides. He has fallen into a rhythm, so consumed within it that he has yet to notice Iwaizumi’s presence.

He’s biting his nails, fingers never straying far from his lips. He’s been at this a long time--too long--from the blood Iwaizumi sees flecked on his fingers, the winces Iwaizumi catches in his face, as he walks.

Iwaizumi curses the fact he did not wake up sooner.  

“Oikawa,” he says, once, before moving.

Oikawa does not hear him.

“Oikawa,” he says, again, taking a step forward.

Oikawa does not see him.

“Oikawa,” he says, for the third time, disrupting his rhythm by placing himself as an obstacle in his path. Oikawa startles, freezing up, arms pressing close to his chest, breath quickening.

Iwaizumi sighs, “ _Tooru_.” He reaches his hands up, a thumb coming up to caress the other’s face, swiping a thumb over chewed up lips. Oikawa looks at the ground, guilt ridden on his maskless face.

“Why?” Iwaizumi asks, as he always does, fingers running down to squeeze his boyfriend’s biceps.

“They’re all watching me,” Oikawa replies, “I can’t disappoint them.”

“You won, Tooru,” Iwaizumi reminds him.

Oikawa grits his teeth, “But next time--”

“Worry about that next time,” Iwaizumi orders, tracing circles along Oikawa’s arms.

“That’s not how my mind works,” Oikawa huffs, biting his raw lip again.

Iwaizumi brings his hand up to caress his face again, prompting him to stop his chewing. Iwaizumi lets out another sigh, and says nothing more, simply taking Oikawa’s arms and leading him to their kitchen table.

He sits him down, pouring him a glass of water before fishing out bandaids from the cupboard. Oikawa is sipping his water obediently. Iwaizumi pulls a chair up to him, sitting himself down. He takes one of Oikawa’s hands, pressing a kiss to each finger, the nails bitten down until they bled, before wrapping them in a band aid.

It’s a silent process. A familiar process. Oikawa tears up partially through, but Iwaizumi doesn’t let it distract him from finishing.

He _knows_ that’s not how Oikawa’s mind works. Oikawa has explained it more times than he can count. How his mind does not stop, it just spins and spins, and drives him mad. Makes it impossible to stop moving, to stop fidgeting, biting, stepping, what have you. Even now, Oikawa’s thigh is shaking, bouncing up and down by a restless foot.

Iwaizumi does not understand it. Can not understand. Because his mind does not run continuously, his synapses are not constantly firing. But it does not mean he does not try.

Oikawa’s therapist once told him, during one of the sessions he was invited to attend with him, that he was doing a great job supporting his boyfriend.

Iwaizumi does not feel great.

He kisses Oikawa, chaste and sweet when he’s done, leading him back to the bedroom and tucking him in. He goes to the bathroom as an excuse, and it is only then he feels the burn behind his eyes, and tears prickling at the corners of his eyelids. His hands ball into fists and he makes as if to punch the wall, but doesn’t, simply taps his knuckles against the tiles before leaning his sweaty forehead against it. 

He takes a deep breath and goes to bed.

* * *

“You’re coddling him,” Hanamaki says.

“He needs time,” Iwaizumi defends.

“You’re encouraging him,” Matsukawa counters.

“He just needs time,” Iwaizumi repeats.

_He just needs time_ , Iwaizumi repeats, as he counts more cracks on the living room ceiling.

* * *

He used to hate the carpet in their apartment. 

“It’ll soften your steps more. You’re safe.”

“Iwa-chan...I don’t know,” Oikawa mumbles, fearfully.

“I’ve got you,” Iwaizumi promises.

It’s enough to finally get Oikawa standing, bundled up tightly in his puffy jacket, sweats and thick socks. He wavers about their bedroom with nervous steps and occasional winces on his bad leg, but he’s walking.

He’s walking.

Iwaizumi wants to cry.

He doesn’t.

But he smiles. And Oikawa is biting his lip.

“See?” Iwaizumi says, “You’re made of stronger stuff than you think. Plexi-glass, if you will.”

Oikawa cracks a smile, so rare these days that Iwaizumi is winded by it, fingers squeezing tighter around Oikawa’s arms. Oikawa let’s out a fearful squeak and Iwaizumi lets him go completely.

“You almost broke me.” Oikawa hisses, curling in on himself.

“But I didn’t,” Iwaizumi reminds, insists, _pleads_.

Oikawa nibbles at his lip, teeth digging into the flesh and Iwaizumi worries he’s going to chew himself raw again but Oikawa stops, thankfully. He sits down on the bed.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispers, more to the floor, “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Oikawa,-”

“I know you don’t believe me.”

“Oikawa--”

“I heard what Makki said. I heard what you said. I’m not stupid, Hajime. You think I’m stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I’ve never thought you were stupid. You’re the smartest person I know, you’re studying _astrophysics_ for _fuck’s sake_ Oikawa,” Iwaizumi shouts, voice raising in frustration.  

Oikawa winces as the noise, curling in on himself further, “I’m not studying anything anymore.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “You’re on a medical leave of absence, that doesn’t mean you’re never going back to school.”

“I can’t go back. It’s too dangerous. I can’t do these things anymore, Iwa-chan, I’ll...I’ll”

Iwaizumi feels his patience thinning, and he steps forward, kneeling down to look Oikawa in the eyes from his place curled up on the bed, “Oikawa, Oikawa _look_ at me.”

Oikawa shakes his head.

“You are _not_ made of glass.”

“You don’t believe me,” Oikawa whimpers.

“Oikawa, you are flesh and bone, and, and, and _stardust_.” Iwaizumi insists, “You are made up of everything in the universe and you are stronger than this.”

“Every second, every day, I see myself breaking,” Oikawa replies instead, voice distant and raw, eyes transfixed on a spot on the wall, far away. So far away, Iwaizumi doubts he could ever reach it, “When I stepped down I saw my ankle breaking in three places, my body buckling, _shattering_ . I see it every time I blink my eyes, in my sleep, even now I can see it: I turn my head to quick and snap my neck, and the shards spray out and pierce _you_ and it’s over.” Oikawa shudders, eyes squeezing shut, “You have to believe me.”

“I believe you,” Iwaizumi insists, hand coming up, “But believe _me_ when I tell you it’s your mind lying to you.”

Oikawa shakes his head again, slow but just as desperate.

“Let me show you,” Iwaizumi asks, “Let me show you how strong you are.”

“I’m not,” Oikawa huddles into his pillows, “I’m not ready.”

Iwaizumi hangs his head, and after a moment of silence steps out of the room, defeated. He does not press. He heads into the living room.

He screams into one of the couch cushions.

* * *

Iwaizumi remembers, one restless night on the couch, a suggestion Oikawa’s therapist had offered them both. Oikawa had immediately shot it down.

Because Oikawa has never had pets before, never wanted pets before, the entire experience is foreign and slightly terrifying.

It keeps Iwaizumi up.

He knows Oikawa will never agree to it if he asks him, especially not now. But he wonders if it would help.

That morning, Iwaizumi drops a cup accidentally, the noise of the crash spiraling Oikawa into a panic attack worse than he’s ever seen. It takes hours to calm him down again, to keep from retching and choking on himself. Hours of watching, unable to massage the feeling back into his arms, unable to stroke circles on his back, unable to do _anything_.

The utter fear in Oikawa’s blown out pupils is seared in Iwaizumi’s mind.

He did that. That was his fault.

That night he counts cracks in the ceiling, but it’s not enough to get him to sleep this time. He rubs his face, pulls at his hair. He wants to hold Oikawa, bury his face in his beautiful hair and breathe him in.

He can’t.

He calls Matsukawa.

“It’s 3 am.”

“If I get a cat,” Iwaizumi bulldozes through, rubbing his eye with the back of his curled hand, “And Oikawa hates it, will you take it in?”

“What?” Matsukawa asks, and Iwaizumi can _feel_ how tired he is through the reciever.

Iwaizumi has no sympathy, the emotion’s been tapped dry by now, so he continues, “You’ve been wanting one right?”

“What’s going on?” Matsukawa groans.

“I think it might help him. I want to try. But I can’t just return a cat if it doesn’t work.”

There’s a long sigh on the other side, “Yeah, we can take it.”

Iwaizumi smiles, and for the first night in a long time, he sleeps.

* * *

“It’s like the world is always watching me, but they never see me. Like I’m transparent.” Oikawa says, one day.

“I see you,” Iwaizumi insists.

Oikawa snorts,”You’ve always been able to see right through me. Doesn’t that just prove my point?” 

* * *

Iwaizumi makes a point to find a kitten. Tiny and frail. The one he picks out has long hair, gray with little white paws. Dainty. She’s so small in Iwaizumi’s hands he worries he might crush her. Which is why she’s perfect. He loves her instantly. 

When he drops her in Oikawa’s lap the man shouts in surprise.

The kitten mewls.

Oikawa stares at him incomprehensibly. Iwaizumi licks his dry lips, “Call it an early birthday gift.”

“Iwa-chan, I...I can’t--”

The kitten mewls again, high pitched and needy, tiny claws digging at the blankets on top of Oikawa’s lap. His brown eyes lock on her, in awe.

“She’s small and fragile, so be careful with her,” Iwaizumi orders, scratching her head with his finger. She quiets down when he does so, little head leaning into his touch.

“What’s her name?” Oikawa asks, eyes unable to tear away from the scene.  

“Up to you,” Iwaizumi smiles.

Oikawa nods slowly, a tentative hand coming out to pet the tiny head. His fingers tremble as he does, but the kitten is soft and safe. Body light as it walks on him with her feather touch. There is nothing to fear with this creature, and Oikawa can feel his shoulders loosening a degree. “It’s nice to meet you, Princess Leia,” he whispers, almost revrentially.

Iwaizumi snorts, trying to stifle a bark of a laugh, “Sounds about right.” _Sounds just like you, Oikawa,_ Iwaizumi thinks, hopefully.

Princess Leia gets Oikawa out of his bed and doing things around the house. He stumbles around in his fortified pillow armor, shuffling between rooms, but at least he’s _doing_ things. He feeds her, tends to her water bowl and cleans her litterbox, and she is perfectly content to stay in his arms, or cling to his padded shoulders.

He talks to her, too, filling the lonely hours while Iwaizumi is in class with idle chatter. Iwaizumi lets out a happy sigh that it seems to have worked out.

It has not solved the problem.

But Oikawa seems more himself each day.

* * *

“Iwa-chan, we need to watch Star Wars.” 

“Again?”

“Princess Leia needs to see it.”

Iwaizumi huffs but nods, because it’s true. She should have a chance to learn of her namesake, “Alright, I can set it up. Let me go grab one of the chairs.”

Oikawa shakes his head carefully, “Come sit with me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi freezes, blinking furiously, “In the bed?”

Oikawa nibbles at his lip but Princess Leia soon distracts him from this by pawing at his arm. He picks her up and nuzzles her close, “Next to me,” he says, albeit shyly.

Iwaizumi does not argue, nerves thrumming through his veins, hands feeling sweaty at his sides. Iwaizumi has not laid next to his boyfriend in weeks. It’s embarrassing how excited he is at the prospect to do so, when he knows nothing will come of it. He will simply lie down, a wall of pillows between them and that will be that.

But it’s enough to get his heart racing.

It takes all of Iwaizumi’s power not to throw his arm around Oikawa and pull him against his side, like how they used to watch movies. Either, Iwaizumi resting his head on OIkawa’s shoulder, or Oikawa tucked under Iwaizumi’s chin, his body half on top of the either. But it’s now, not then, so he keeps his arms folded on his chest, fingers digging into the sides of his arms to make sure they do not stray.

Oikawa is tense beside him, eyes flickering to him every so often from the screen.

Halfway through the movie Princess Leia stirs from her place in Oikawa’s lap and crawls over to Iwaizumi, who takes her gently in his arm and pets her. She purrs, face rubbing in tandem against Iwaizumi’s touch. Oikawa watches him.

It takes Iwaizumi a moment, eyes too occupied watching Princess Leia nuzzle into his touch starved hand, to see that Oikawa is crying.

He stares at him, mouth opening, eyebrows upturned in worry and his arms long to reach out to him, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa whispers, and he wipes at his own tears.

“Why are you sorry?” Iwaizumi sighs, voice pained because Oikawa is only ever _sorry_ these days. 

“I’m so selfish, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hisses, hands fisting on his chest, “I know, I know what you....I know I haven’t been...I’m just-”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, calmly, hoping it resets Oikawa’s mind and clears his thoughts enough to say what he needs to say. Sometimes the thoughts are too fast for his boyfriend to translate to words. 

“We should break up,” Oikawa blurts out instead.

Iwaizumi sits up, violently, and Oikawa squeaks in fear, curling himself away. Princess Leia jumps up, scurrying back towards Oikawa. Iwaizumi is too upset to even apologize, “What? Why?” he demands.

Oikawa is picking at his pillow, chewing his lip, “I can’t...You can’t touch me anymore. I could shatter at any moment and hurt you. So, it’s...it’s unfair to you. To lead you along like this. It’s not, it’s not right. It’s selfish.”

“ _Tooru,_ ” Iwaizumi breathes, looking at him intently, green eyes searching, “This has never been, been about, about _that_ . I don’t care about that! I care about _you_!”

Oikawa curls away, “Hajime,” he whimpers, “You’re too good to me,” and it sounds like poison on his lips, dripping into the gashes in his lips, burning him up in acid.

“Oikawa.”

“I miss you so much,” Oikawa shields his face with his trembling hands.

“I’m right here,” Iwaizumi pleads, “Let me, let me hold you, please.”

Oikawa is adamant though, “We can’t. I’ll hurt you.” 

“You won’t.”

Oikawa shakes his head, “We can’t.”

Iwaizumi spends the night on the couch, counting the cracks in the ceiling. Somehow he counts more than any other night.

It’s probably his blurry vision, eyes wet and angry.

(It’s not.)

* * *

“I don’t know what else to do,” Iwaizumi says.

“You have to take care of yourself, too.” Hanamaki says.

_But I love him_ , Iwaizumi thinks.

“I know,” Iwaizumi says, instead.

* * *

Iwaizumi knows he’s reaching the end of himself, the end of his patience. Every day he becomes a bit more terse, a bit more angry. He raises his voice more and more and apologizes less and less.

To combat this, he keeps his distance. It’s not the right choice, he knows, but it’s all he can do to not tear out his own hair. He can’t hold a conversation with Oikawa long enough before he wants to shout at him, beg him to see that he’s _fine_ , _perfectly fine_ . That this is _ridiculous_.

A new part of him wants to hit him, smack him upside the head like he used to so he could see how fine he is. How he won’t break from that kind of touch. Prove it in such a concrete way there’s no denying it. But he doesn’t think Oikawa would forgive him, doesn’t think it’s worth the anguished scream and panic it is sure to come with. He can only think of the hours of agony spent after a simple cup slipped from his grasp. He can’t do that to him again.  He loves him too much.

He loves him _so_ much.

Iwaizumi traces the cracks in the ceiling with his finger, unable to sleep. It’s getting colder, the crisp air of fall sitting on the horizon. He shudders in his own dingy apartment. Oikawa has all the blankets and Iwaizumi doesn’t have the energy to get up and ask him for one. He rubs his eyes.

A mewl opens them, and he sees Princess Leia padding out of the bedroom, heading toward her food bowl for a late night drink. He smiles at her despite it all.

Oikawa shuffles out after her, swaddled tight in his stuffed armor, pausing at the door way. Iwaizumi looks at him. He knows it’s silly to be surprised, Oikawa has always had a penchant for insomnia, but he rarely ventures out of his room this late. It’s too dark to walk carefully.

Oikawa frowns at him, brown eyes taking in his form on the couch, teeth digging into his bottom lip, “You’re cold.”

Iwaizumi snorts, stretching his body out on the couch and wiggling his toes, “I’m fine.”

Oikawa’s fingers twist the fabric of his blanket, and Iwaizumi sees the conflict in his brown eyes. The desire to give him a blanket and the fear of losing one of his shields playing out against each other so clear, in the maskless hour that is three am. Iwaizumi sits up, rubbing his own forehead, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Oikawa says nothing. Princess Leia finishes her meal, threading herself through Oikawa’s legs contentedly. They both watch her, nuzzling into Oikawa’s padded thighs cutely. And then she tenses, ears flattening to the back of her head, teeth baring. Iwaizumi blinks, squinting at the cat. She’s never acted like this before.

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa murmurs, slowly, tensely.

The cat arches its back, tiny claws skittering on the floor as she scrambles back and away, into the bedroom. Iwaizumi stands up, alarmed.

And then all he hears is Oikawa’s scream, “ _Hajime!”_

And then all he hears is a sickening _crack_.

The next thing he knows he’s been barreled into, thrown to the ground. He hears a loud crash and flinches, letting out a surprised shout. His head is ringing from it’s impact on the floor. He blinks his eyes open, seeing Oikawa’s face above him, worry filled and searching saying something he can’t hear from the cacophony in his own head.

“Tooru?”

“Hajime!” Oikawa clings to him, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses him desperately and Iwaizumi is in shock. Is this a dream? It must be a dream. It has to be a dream. But he’ll take it. He’ll take it without question.

He kisses back, arms squeezing Oikawa tight, so tight against him, so he can feel all of him against him, relishing in his warmth, his presence, his being.  Oikawa breaks away to gasp, face burrowing into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, and it takes Iwaizumi a moment--he’s much to preoccupied running touch starved fingers along every inch of Oikawa’s body on top of him--that the man is chanting his name like a mantra, and the wetness dripping down his neck is the flutter of tears.

Iwaizumi stills, hands coming up to cup his boyfriend’s cheeks, wiping away his tears with his thumbs, “Tooru…”

“I thought, i thought! I was so scared Hajime, i thought you were going to die!”

Iwaizumi blinks, “What?”

And its then and only then that he takes in the slight breeze, the sawdust sprinkled around and the giant gaping hole above them. The ceiling has caved in, large pieces of it cluttering the couch he had been laying on.

They’re on the floor a little ways away, covered in Oikawa’s layers of protection, shielded from the world.

Iwaizumi is baffled, because he honest to god doesn't care about any of that, because he’s realized something. He kisses OIkawa one more time, in case speaking of it breaks the spell.

“Tooru, don’t you see?” He whispers to those lips, thumb still drawing soothing circles on his reddened cheeks, “You didn’t break, you didn’t shatter. You didn’t hurt me, you _saved_ me.”

Oikawa blinks, arms lifting himself slightly so he straddles the man underneath him. The blanket slips off of them both, settling in a heap to the side. He takes himself in, brown eyes wide in wonder and confusion. A piece of plaster slides off his back as he moves and he flinches.

And after a second he relaxes.

“I didn’t break,” he says the words to himself, _for_ himself.

Iwaizumi’s grin could be called manic by anyone watching, as he sits up a little too, “You didn’t break.”

OIkawa’s face flutters, mouth wobbling into a wet smile, “I didn’t break.”

“You didn’t break!”

“I didn’t break!” Euphoria cracks Oikawa’s voice, words bleeding into laughter. His features light up, like candles in a church, warming lost souls from the bitter cold and Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to worship him. To be worthy of him.

Iwaizumi is caught in the fervor, Oikawa’s laughter reigniting his heart, spreading blood and warmth throughout his chest and limbs that he had not realized had gone numb from all the weeks without that blessed music singing in his ears. And he can’t contain himself any longer. He jumps to his feet, bringing the giggling Oikawa up with him.

Iwaizumi spins him, in a musicless dance on their battlefield of a living room. Oikawa is guffawing, feet work messy as he does his best to keep up and dodge rubble at the same time. Iwaizumi leads him through the wreckage and when it becomes too difficult, he brings him back closer only too place to firm hands on his hips. And then he’s lifting him, so light, and Oikawa is _squealing_ in delight, arms coming out to rest on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, and Iwaizumi’s entire vision is just Oikawa, surrounded by a halo of light from their new impromptu skylight.

And he’s beautiful.

And he’s Oikawa.

The real Oikawa, the one still plagued with insecurities and anxieties and a mind that just won’t quit, but also the one that laughs and teases and runs his fingers along his biceps, the one that rants about conspiracy theories and has a shrine to Harrison Ford in his closet, and is silly, and selfish, and petty, and beautiful and gushing and thoughtful and unapologetically _him_.

And he’s back.

And he’s in his _arms_.

And Iwaizumi doesn’t want to let him go.

They part when a meow interrupts them, and Oikawa rushes to go scoop Princess Leia up in his arms and squeeze her tight without fear, without care and Iwaizumi’s heart absolutely swells at the sight.

He knows this does not fix everything, that many of these things can’t be fix, aren’t _to be_ fixed because they’re just Oikawa. And he loves Oikawa. All of Oikawa.  

“Iwa-chan, can you walk cats?” Oikawa asks, breaking Iwaizumi’s train of thought with his ridiculous question. Ridiculous Oikawa. Brilliant Oikawa. Smiling Oikawa. Silly Oikawa.

He loves Oikawa.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, and he forgets to wipe the smile off his face.

Oikawa just lets out an exaggerated sigh, a hint of old mischief in his brown eyes that captivates Iwaizumi more than he would like to admit. He licks his lips, teeth occupied with his smile, “Well, it’s just, I haven’t been outside in _ages_.”

Iwaizumi laughs, a piercing sound that shakes his shoulders with his force, releasing weeks of tension, loud enough to shatter glass.

But it doesn’t.

He’d never let it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most self indulgant thing I've ever written lmao
> 
> i listened to the newest sawbones up on 'the glass delusion' and could not get this story out of my head. so here you go! 
> 
> i just wanted to inject oikawa with my anxiety symptoms, as one does. LOL
> 
> enjoy!!!!
> 
> see you next time!


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